Despair and Hope--Chapter 15
by Kari
Summary: A young artist, infatuated by the mysterious and beautiful Rose, takes her in.


Despair and Hope--Chapter 15  
  
By Kari Raines @ TrekGirl2000@netscape.net  
  
Welcome to chapter 15 of "Despair and Hope." Sorry it took so long to get it posted. I just  
got back from my little brother's graduation on the other side of Texas. Thank you for all  
your reviews. I really appreciate all you guys. Be sure to either leave comments via the  
review box, or you can e-mail me. Well, enjoy! =)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
She stared into her uninviting tea, the very scent making her stomach turn. Normally, Rose  
liked tea. But she knew it was just a side effect of her pregnancy, so she ignored it as best  
she could, sliding the mug away so she didn't have to smell it.  
  
"You don't want your tea?" Michael Calvert asked. He was seated across from her in a  
small café near the park.  
  
"Not today," she said simply, unsure of how much she should reveal to this man she had just  
met.  
  
The waiter appeared then, setting down their sandwiches in front of them. Rose stared at it,  
repulsed. It was just about as appealing as the tea had been. But Rose knew that she would  
have to try to get it down, if she wanted her baby to be strong and healthy.  
  
Swallowing her repulsion, she took the first bite of her sandwich. Michael did the same, but  
he was gazing at her, intrigued by the mysterious young woman.  
  
Rose ignored his scrutiny, choosing instead to study the café he had chosen. He told her it  
was his favorite. It was nice enough, but Rose knew that no socialite would ever been seen  
here. Rose had offered to pay for her own food, but Michael had insisted that that wouldn't  
be proper or gentleman-like to make a lady pay.  
  
She found herself wondering about him. He obviously wasn't poor--at least, not like Jack  
had been. But he definitely wasn't a socialite. Rose made a mental note to ask him about it  
later. Right now, she owed him an explanation. It was the least she could do for what he  
had done for her.  
  
But Michael was patient. He didn't press her. Instead, he allowed her to speak when she  
was ready. "All right," she said, taking a deep breath. "This is going to sound very strange,  
but the reason that man was following me is because he was hired by my ex-fiancee."  
  
He raised a confused eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.  
  
"You see, I was raised in the social class. I was to marry a rich man for money, but I broke  
off the engagement when I decided that I didn't want to live my life that way." There. That  
was all he needed to know.  
  
"So I take it that the man wasn't very happy?"  
  
"No. He was keeping me with him against my will. You . . . rescued me."  
  
He smiled, mock bowing. "It was my pleasure, milady."  
  
She returned the smile. She knew he wanted to ask more questions, but he honored her  
privacy. "So what about you?" she asked, changing the subject. "Where are you from?"  
  
"Cedar Rapids. I moved here to go to school."  
  
Rose was taken aback slightly. Very seldom did anyone other than the rich go to college.  
  
"My family was never extremely wealthy," he explained. "But they wanted the best for me.   
We were always fairly well off, but my parents saved up their money for me. They saw my  
talent as an artist at an early age, and they wanted me to do the best I could. So here I am.   
I'm going to art school, and selling my drawings on the side for extra money to live off of."  
  
Rose was happy for Michael, but she found herself wishing that Jack had had that sort of  
support from his parents. He could have been great.  
  
"So what about you?" Michael asked. "Now that you're free, what do you want to do with  
your life?"  
  
She'd never really thought of it. There were, of course, specific things she wanted to do--the  
things she and Jack said they would do together. "I think that . . . I think I want to live my  
life for the moment," she finally said, a dreamy smile forming on her lips. That's what Jack  
had done. Lived for the moment, without worrying where he'd end up next. "I just want to .  
. . head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it." She repeated the words she had said to  
Jack three months ago. Why can't I be like you, Jack? Just head out for the horizon  
whenever I feel like it.  
  
The thought made her giddy. She imagined herself traveling with her daughter, showing her  
all the things Jack had shown her . . .   
  
Michael was smiling at the dreamy look that had crossed Rose's face. He knew there was  
more to the story than this girl was telling her. As he drew her picture in the park, he had  
seen the underlying sadness in her eyes, as he could see it now. The girl was young, but he  
knew she had a story to tell. Maybe one day she would tell it to him. "If you don't mind my  
saying, Miss Dawson--"  
  
"Rose," she corrected him.  
  
He smiled in appreciation. "All right. If you don't mind my saying so, Rose, you are a very  
lovely young lady, and you seem to have spirit. You could do well in the acting or modeling  
business if your adventures ever take you in the direction of California."  
  
Initially, Rose dismissed the idea as ridiculous, but as she thought about it, she realized that  
she would be going to California very soon. Maybe she would look into it. It might be fun.  
  
"I know some people who are in the business," he told her. "If you ever need some inside  
help, let me know."  
  
Rose didn't know what to think. She had just met this man and he was already offering her  
help in a career. "I'll keep that in mind," she told him.  
  
A moment of silence passed in which he ate. Rose could do nothing but stare at her food.  
  
"Are you not hungry?" he asked.  
  
"Would you please excuse me? I'm suddenly not feeling too well."  
  
He nodded in concern as he watched her disappear into a back room. She returned a few  
minutes later. He noticed her cheeks looked a little paler, and her eyes were red. "May we  
go now?" Rose asked before he could say anything.  
  
"Of course," he told her, leaving money on the table for the waiter. Rose stepped out into the  
sun with Michael right behind her. The heat, which had seemed so nice mere hours earlier,  
now sickened her. She longed for a nice, cool bed, away from the sun.  
  
"Do you have a place to stay?"  
  
This was Michael's voice, but he sounded very far away. Rose looked around herself, but  
everywhere, the light was blinding her. The heat was beating down on her skin, and Rose  
was dimly aware that she was losing consciousness.  
  
Jack was there, blocking the light, asking her if she was all right. She felt his strong arms  
enclosing over her body; supporting her, and her mind flashed back to the way his arms and  
hands felt on her in the Renault.  
  
Put your hands on me Jack put your hands on me Jack put your hands on me Jack.  
  
"Jack . . . " she moaned in his arms, snuggling into his chest. So warm and solid, and very  
much alive. Jack, her Guardian Angel.  
  
Rose felt herself being carried away, and she allowed this as her mind drifted. When she lost  
consciousness, she dreamed of Jack, like she had every night since his death. Jack; the  
arousal and passion in his eyes as he drew her, and the way her own heart had pounded, and  
the memory of her own arousal. Rose dimly remembered the way she had almost wished  
that he had made love to her then, after he drew her. She had fantasized about it the entire  
time. Then she dreamed of Jack and the way he had made love to her for the first and last  
time, their bodies and hearts throbbing together in the heat of their passion. And then there  
was Jack, teeth chattering and lips blue, making her promise that she would survive and go  
on without him.  
  
When the ship docks, I'm getting off with you.  
  
No, don't think of that. Don't think of what you almost had. Think of the scent of Jack's  
skin and hair, and the feel of his lips on yours, and the way your hearts had beat in rhythm  
for a single moment in time.  
  
Say we'll go there sometime, even if we only ever just talk about it . . .   
  
No, we'll do it. We'll ride the rollercoaster and drink cheap beer till we throw up . . .   
  
Rose's eyes snapped open suddenly. The first thing she saw through her sleep-induced haze  
was the familiar figure of a man smiling down on her, his blue eyes concerned and relieved.   
"Jack," she said, reaching up for him . . . but she stopped.  
  
No, not Jack. She looked around anxiously, becoming fully aware of her surroundings. She  
was in a strange bed surrounded by strange, bland walls, and strange machinery, and the  
man hovering over her was not Jack Dawson.  
  
It was Michael Calvert, the young artist she had met in the park. He was sitting in a chair  
next to her bed, his eyes displaying an odd mixture of relief, concern, confusion, and  
amusement.  
  
"Hi," he said simply, giving her a small smile. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Where am I? What happened?" she asked, ignoring his question as she sat up in bed.  
  
"You're in a hospital. You fainted, so I brought you here."  
  
Rose's eyes widened, and she was suddenly scared for the life she carried inside herself that  
she had created with Jack.  
  
"Your child is fine," he told her quietly, as if reading her mind. "The doctor told me," he  
informed her before she could ask how he knew.  
  
"He assumed I am the father, so I told him you are my wife."  
  
"You did what?" Rose asked.  
  
Michael shrugged sheepishly. "You know how . . . unacceptable your pregnancy would be  
considered. Besides, if the records show a 'Rose Calvert,' it will be more difficult for your   
fiancee to find you."  
  
She sighed. He did have a point.  
  
"You were moaning the name 'Jack' in your sleep," he said after a moment. "Is that your  
child's father? Is he the one you were to marry?"  
  
Rose felt her face turn bright red. "Mr. Calvert, I appreciate all you've done for me, but  
those are very inappropriate questions. That is none of your concern."  
  
She turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "Why are you doing this?" she asked  
quietly, still not looking at him. "Why are you helping me?"  
  
"Because you inspired me and intrigued me all at once. Not many people do that." His  
answer was immediate and required no thought. It was an honest, sincere answer. "And  
because you look like you lost something that meant a great deal to you."  
  
She turned to face him, the surprise registering in her eyes. "You can see that?" she asked.  
  
"I'm an artist," he said with a shrug.  
  
Her mind went back to one of her conversations with Jack, the day after she met him. "You  
have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people."  
  
"I see you."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You wouldn't have jumped."  
  
"Look, Rose," Michael said, bringing her back to the present. "I don't know your story, and  
you're right--it's none of my business. But you do need help. Come stay with me for a few  
days. Decide what you're going to do, but let me help you--at least until you get through the  
'morning sickness' part of your pregnancy."  
  
Rose's eyes snapped onto his. "And pretend I'm your wife?"  
  
He shrugged again. "Just publicly. I won't . . . expect anything from you, if that's what  
you're afraid of."  
  
Rose sighed. She didn't like the idea, even though she felt with all her heart that she could  
trust this man. She supposed he was right, however. She did want her baby to be strong and  
healthy.  
  
"That's not what I was worried about. Okay. I'll do it. If only to assure that my baby is  
born healthy. Then I'm gone, because I have a promise to keep."  
  
These last words came out softly, and Michael once again noticed the strange mixture of  
sadness and hope that filled her eyes. He found himself wanting to ask her what had  
happened to her, but he respected her wishes by not asking. His eyes drifted over the soft  
porcelain of her cheeks--tarnished only by a visible bruise that he had been tempted to ask  
her about as well. Most likely, that was a gift from her fiancee. And her hair--a gorgeous  
shade of red, was cut unfashionably short. In fact, Michael had never seen hair that short on  
a woman before, much less a society woman.  
  
Despite this, Rose Dawson was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever beheld. He  
found himself wondering what she had looked like with her hair long. He imagined himself  
touching her silky, scarlet locks, and her smooth porcelain skin. Even though the girl was  
tired and worn, he couldn't help but notice the generous curves of her young body.  
  
This Jack, or whoever was the father of her baby, was a very lucky man. It was no wonder  
that her fiancee had tried so hard to keep her.  
  
"You can trust me," he told her softly. "I only want to help."  
  
Rose looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and a strange thought occurred to her. She  
suddenly knew that Jack had sent this warm, sincere man to her. Jack had led her to  
Michael Calvert as surely as Jack had led her to Molly Brown after the Carpathia had  
docked. And the way Jack had tried to warn her away from the school when Cal had come  
to take her away.  
  
"I trust you," she told him quietly. And I trust Jack. Thank you, Jack. I love you. She said  
it quietly for the millionth time. I love you, Jack.  
  
Shortly after, the doctor entered, relieved that she had finally awaken. After telling her she  
should get plenty of rest and eat healthy, and try to stay cool, he cheerfully released them.   
They called for a carriage and were taken to Michael's apartment building not far from the  
park and the cafe. Michael explained to her that he liked the park because he met the most  
interesting people there.  
  
His apartment building was decent--not ritzy, like she was accustomed to, and not poor. But  
nice. The people seemed nice, and it was a nice neighborhood. Michael helped her up the  
stairs, and when they reached his room, she stared around in awe. "Are these all your  
drawings?" she asked.  
  
"Most of them," he told her, crossing his arms.  
  
"They're wonderful," she said, kneeling down to study a cluster of papers that hung on the  
wall. Many were drawings of people, very similar to Jack's, while others were colorful and  
portrayed sunsets, oceans, stars, gardens, and one even looked to be a picture of the very  
park she had visited earlier. "Were they all drawn from life?" she asked, as she suddenly  
remembered asking the same question of Jack on Titanic's boatdeck.  
  
"Sure were," he answered with a small grin. "I've done my share of traveling. Beauty  
inspires me." Rose's head snapped up at this last comment. From the way he was looking at  
her, it had obviously been directed at her.  
  
She turned away, ashamed and embarrassed. She really wasn't ready for male attention--not  
so soon after Jack. Because in truth, whenever she looked at Michael, all she could see was  
Jack.  
  
"Do you like art?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.  
  
"Very much," she told him, smiling softly. "My father owned quite a collection of exquisite  
artwork. I was fascinated by it. He used to sit and explain to me what each piece meant, and  
I hung on every word, enthralled by his voice."  
  
And then I met Jack, the love of my life, who was an artist. He showed me what it was like  
to live and to love, and he freed me and saved me, and then he died, but not before making  
me promise to live my life to the fullest. And he left a legacy--a life that will live through  
me.  
  
Of course, she said none of this. She could not bring herself to speak of Jack. It hurt her too  
much. Maybe one day she would tell people about Jack, but right now, he was all hers to  
keep locked up safe in her heart.  
  
"It sounds like you love your father very much," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.   
"Perhaps one day you'll introduce me to him."  
  
Uncomfortable by the innocent touch, Rose squirmed away. "He died. It was several  
months ago."  
  
Michael blushed visibly as he turned away from her, embarrassed by his own bluntness.   
Perhaps that was the source of her pain that she kept bottled up. But as he watched her, he  
knew that that wasn't it. He could see it in her eyes. There was something more that she was  
not telling him. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, standing up. "Would you like to take a nap?   
I have an extra bedroom, and it's yours while you're staying here."  
  
"That would be lovely. Thank you very much."  
  
Rose's room was rather small, but cozy. Several of Michael's drawings, and various  
paintings decorated the four walls. It was clean, with a single, narrow bed. But to Rose, it  
looked like a million dollars. She sat down on the comforter, admiring the embroidery. She  
traced her fingers over the small designs sewn into the material. Very lovely, in a simple  
way. Rose guessed that it was made by Michael's mother, or grandmother, or maybe an  
aunt, even.  
  
She stood up, wandering toward the walls. She thought back to the paintings she had carried  
with her on Titanic--works by Monet and Picasso, now lost forever. And Jack's beautiful  
drawings, now locked in a safe in a sunken ship at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, never  
again to be admired by human eyes.  
  
At least these drawings--done by Michael Calvert--were safe. If the world was never to learn  
of the art of Jack Dawson, maybe they would learn of the work of Michael Calvert. It was a  
small comfort, but the only thing Rose had to hold on to.  
  
"I brought you some clothes," Michael announced, stepping into the room. Rose regarded  
him, tearing her mind away from her reverie. "My sister left them last time she visited.   
She's about the same size as you. Sorry I couldn't do any better, but it was sort of a short  
notice."  
  
"They'll do nicely," Rose said as he laid them down on the bed. "Thank you. For  
everything. You've been very kind."  
  
He smiled at her warmly. "It's been my pleasure to help a lady of your beauty and  
character." Rose blushed at the comment, still unnerved by his bluntness, or was it sincerity?   
"Pleasant dreams, sweet Rose," he said as he backed out of the room, leaving her alone with  
her thoughts.  
  
After changing into the nightgown Michael had brought her, Rose rummaged around in her  
bag until she found the two items she had been looking for. The first on was the Heart of the  
Ocean. Rose pulled the precious necklace out, studying the way the light from the single  
bedroom window hit the jewel, scattering rays of blue light across the room. Rose kissed the  
'Heart' gently wrapping it up in a worn piece of cloth and placing it in the top of the  
wardrobe. She stooped momentarily as she saw herself reflected in the wardrobe mirror.  
  
She turned sideways, studying herself. The prominent bulge her her belly was just visible,  
and the sight delighted her. There was finally visible proof her pregnancy with Jack's child.   
She touched her swelling belly gently, feeling for any movement. None detectable as of yet.   
"Quite the scandal," she said out loud, grinning to herself. She imagined Jack was there with  
her now, and she could almost see his smiling face reflected in the mirror, next to hers. His  
arms encircled her then, feeling the child he had planted inside her. She closed her eyes,  
enjoying the moment.  
  
Finally, her eyes opened as fatigue settled over her weakening body. She drifted back to her  
bed, her eyes settling on the other item that Rose had pulled out of her bag. It was the  
drawing of the little girl--the one she had found in the basement of the Dawson home in  
Chippewa Falls. One of Jack's drawings.  
  
She laid down in bed, holding the drawing close to her as her eyes drifted closed. "I love  
you, Jack," she said out loud. "Thank you for sending Michael to help me."  
  
As her mind drifted, she found herself dreaming of the little girl in the picture. And the little  
girl was her daughter, Jacklynn. Her daughter and Jack's daughter. She dreamed that Jack  
held the child in his arms--but this was an older Jack, a more mature Jack. But his eyes  
twinkled with the loving kindness she remembered in him. Jack would have made a  
wonderful father to their daughter.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 16 coming soon!  
  
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I thrive off feedback! =) 


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